


Lily in Red

by Mr_Skurleton



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Creepy, Daedra, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, I Don't Even Know, Light BDSM, Necromancy, Obsession, Revenge, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Torture, Vampires, Violence, Weirdness, non dragonborn character, this is not a healthy relationship, what am I even doing, where is this even going
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-19 23:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16544648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Skurleton/pseuds/Mr_Skurleton
Summary: “You have a debt to pay Muiri.” He stopped directly before her and leaned down until his hands grasped the table to which her back was pressed. The bottle she’d been holding fell from her shaking hands to spill along the stones beneath them, forgotten as swiftly as all her brave little words. "Did you think I would not return to collect what is owed?"





	1. Blood Lillies

**Author's Note:**

> I had this posted on ff like ages ago but took it down because... reasons I suppose.

"Drowning your sorrows, I see.”

  
If shadows could be taught to whisper, if they could be stirred with an wistful sigh, they might have sounded like those uttered words. But twas not the shadows that so softly shattered the solitude Muiri had been wallowing in within the confines of her stone room. Rather the words issued from lips pulled into a smirk, upon a face she could only half see, belonging to a shade she recognized.

  
On the far wall’s stone bed he lounged in dauntless relaxation, his ever obscuring black hood inclined in her direction. Muiri tried to swallow her pulse as it crawled its way into her throat. She could do naught else but that, the seconds ticking by as her eyes remained painfully wide and fixated on this invited and yet unwanted guest. She could see only a sliver of his face as the rest lay shadowed by hood or hidden behind the curled grey hand his head rested on. Her gaze ran the length of his body, the details of his form equally obscured beneath thick, loose fabric that turned limbs and torso into little more than a suggestion of their actuality. His second arm was caught on the bend of his knee, the other hand hanging free and pointing with bent fingers to the line made by the rest of his body amid the furs.

  
“I must say I am pleasantly surprised. How prudent of you to rent a room for the occasion… especially one with such thick, sound deadening walls.”

  
It was as if someone had snapped their fingers next to her ear. Muiri started, her back hitting the table behind her as emotions she couldn’t think to name roiled within her gut.  
She dropped her eyes to the grey stone floor, scrutinizing its weathered surface in an effort to keep them from lingering elsewhere. Her fingers convulsed around the bottle in her hand, perfuming the air with scents of honey fermented and something else earthy and bitter. Muiri knew a thing or two about the flavor of bitterness.

  
“What are you doing here?” She tried licking her dry lips but could manage no more than a strained whisper. Perhaps it was best though, for there are some things that should only be discussed in murmured words and downcast eyes. “Unless I wasn’t clear last time we spoke?” If she could not stop her voice from wavering then she could at least speak in brave words.

  
“I could answer but I think it would perhaps be more entertaining for you to guess why I am here.” The stranger sat up then, and although she could not see them, Muiri could feel his eyes trained on her. Every ounce of safety she had felt when she had thought herself alone was stripped away leaving nothing but a raw nakedness where it had once been.

  
She tugged at the ragged edges of her sleeves and hunched her shoulders in retort but said nothing.

  
“Or perhaps not, seeing as the answer is so very obvious.” He stood in a single fluid motion and advanced on her with intent etched into every step. “You have a debt to pay Muiri, did you think I would not return to collect what is owed?” He stopped directly before her and leaned down until his hands grasped the table to which her back was pressed. The bottle she’d been holding fell from her shaking hands to spill along the stones beneath them, forgotten as swiftly as all her brave little words.

  
“It’s only been four days… no horse is that fas..” His finger against her lips brought her speech to a dead stop.

  
“And yet the deed is done,” he countered no louder than a heartbeat and close enough to touch. “Would you have preferred that I dawdle? Should I have given Alain and Nilsene one more day among the living before extinguishing their lives?”

  
Muiri made to shake her head but his finger had slid from her lips and now lay pointedly beneath her chin causing her to swallow any words she might have said. With his hand now firmly grasping her jaw Muiri was led to her feet. Only when it seemed her knees would not betray her did he relinquish the hold on her face and take up one on her wrist instead. Primal instincts kept her from jerking her hand back, that and the cold realization that she couldn’t have freed herself regardless of how hard she pulled. Iron in cloth, a shackle beneath an innocuous facade… Muiri almost would have preferred them, at least then there would have been a lock to pick where as his deceptively slender hand gave her no such option.

  
“Your coin is on the table…” Perhaps she was a fool for thinking she could distract him with gold, perhaps she was a fool for letting herself be surprised with no means of defense, but perhaps playing the fool would mean making it out of this room alive.

  
“I know, but that is not important at the moment. You see I went through an awful lot of trouble to ensure a memorable evening for us both tonight.” He spoke oddly, to her ears it was an accent wholly unlike the other Dunmer she’d met. His closeness gave her a better view of what had only been glimpsed when he was across the room, the black scrawl of a tattoo across his cheek, the scent of nightshade trapped in the fabric of his robes, the hilt of a blade peeking from between folds of cloth. “So as you might imagine, it would be something of an insult if you do not at least allow me to show you tonight’s entertainment.”

  
The way he bit into the word ‘insult’ made Muiri shudder and her eyes linger for a moment more on the blade she could see.

  
“Good, I am glad we understand each other. Shall we proceed then?” When it was clear that she wasn’t going to object… or scream for that matter, he let her go.

  
Shuffling feet brought her no relief as she recoiled into something hard, cold and clothed. She spun, jerked back and tried to shriek. Her gut wrenched, strained eyes ready to pop; yet she couldn't blink. She was choking on crimson cloth, the assassin’s hands over her mouth making her swallow those readied cries. Her clawing hands found no purchase, her struggling useless. Muiri couldn’t see the blade likely arcing towards her throat, couldn’t hear the crackling spell surely racing from his fingertips.

  
"Now, now, calm yourself. Unless you would like to inform the guard of our dealings? How well do you think the good people of Markarth would take that knowledge? Do you think they would give you a trial before you were jailed or skip right to the noose?” A calm silken thread breathed along the hairs of her neck, patient if not kind. Muiri’s face drained of color, her breath coming in loud short bursts. So her death was not at the forefront of his mind, the young alchemist wasn’t reassured.

  
“Much better, though really I had hoped you would enjoy this a bit more or at least be somewhat appreciative.” She felt rather than heard his sighed annoyance. “Now, if you are quite through with your frightened little rabbit act I would like to proceed. The night only lasts so long.” Muiri didn’t have to be told twice, nor was his caution warranted when he removed his hand from her mouth. She knew the difference between a promise and an idle threat.

  
“You said he was dead,” She hissed through clenched teeth her eyes trained on Alain’s pale and motionless face. “If this is some twisted joke the two of you…”

  
His laugh was immediate and cold. Muiri shivered with her every nerve, a move that caused his too close lips to brush against her skin. It was a jolt in the dark, an extra kick of adrenaline when she was already drowning in it.

  
"Oh, my dear frozen lily," he spoke that which cut deepest and nailed her down more than his grip ever could. “Perhaps you need a closer look at your once beloved.” She didn't have time to protest as his arm dragged her closer to the despised form of Alain. Now that she wasn't panicking her mind processed his appearance more completely, the dried blood along the collar of his clothing, the dead stare in his lifeless eyes. It was then that it clicked. Dufont was as dead as she had wished; merely a lifeless thrall bound to the mer behind her. “Now you see it, and that is only the half of it.” His smirk was audible, crawling into her ear and settling like a spider within its web.

  
"Nilsine….” She gasped quietly, recognizing the now deceased woman that faded into view as her former friend. “Is she…?"

  
"But of course. That is what you asked for, was it not?"

  
"Yes…. But why did you raise their corpses?" Never mind his trick of her mind, convincing her she’d been alone earlier, in her mind the burn of fear had been doused, replaced by a warmth that was pleasant yet cruel. Here they were, her tormentors as dead as any feelings she might once have felt for them.

"Does it matter? I do not recall you voicing any concern about what would happen after your idea of justice was meted out." His grip on her loosened as he walked over to grasp Nilsine's cold jaw, pulling it to the side as if to show Muiri the ragged gash that marred the flesh at her throat. “Unless you suddenly feel some flutter of guilt?”

  
Muiri cast her gaze quickly to the side, her arm coming up to rub nervously at the other.

  
"No, it doesn't matter. You’ve earned your payment. And this is the bonus for killing Nilsine.” She explained coldly, oddly less at ease now that he had let go of her. She tugged at the tarnished silver ring that adorned her right hand, the plain band too accustomed to her flesh to let go willingly.

  
“I merely tease my dear Muiri,” he turned the sound of her name into something carnal and the way he uttered the word ‘tease’ made a different kind of feeling twist inside her stomach. “I am not one to do something without intent. Raising these two was but the start.”

  
He held out his hand to her, black hood hiding his eyes and his so called ‘intent’ from hers. Reluctance sang through her muscles, not sure which she wanted less to do with, the assassin she’d contracted with or the corpse he stood next to. But what would her refusal cost her? Her trembling fingers reached forward.

  
“Can you imagine how disappointing it was to see a woman so in need of revenge yet unable to see it through? Poison brewed, violence breathing from tight lungs, you were ready and yet...” He drew her closer to the corpse. “Your target continued to draw breath. So you did the next best thing I suppose. But to lose your nerve at that pinnacle moment, to allow someone else to claim what is yours? I thought to myself perhaps it is not a lacking of nerve but rather of direction, of instruction.” From inside his robes he produced the dagger, its edge wicked and glowing faintly red in the dim room. To her he offered the hilt, waiting casually for her as if he was merely handing her a butter knife for her bread. “So here is your chance Muiri, it is time to taste what you have been longing for.”

  
"You want me to what? But… they're already dead! What point would it serve now?" She was astounded, her mind reeling with the oddness of the situation. Wistfully she even regretted contacting the Dark Brotherhood in the first place, seeing as it was turning into a far more dangerous endeavor than she'd ever dreamt it would.

  
"True they are dead, and it will not be quite as satisfying as it would have been if you had simply killed them yourself. However… are you honestly going to tell me there is no part of you that still wishes to plunge a dagger into Alain's heart? Or to stab the woman who betrayed you in the back?" he asked her, dagger hilt still offered. “You should have heard them both… the things they uttered about you before they died…”

  
Her thoughts were a swarm. _'What would it matter if I stabbed them now? They're just corpses… there's nothing wrong or illegal about stabbing corpses…'_ it whispered silently to her and another cold shiver slipped down her spine. It was true, even if the guards where to bust in now they could both deny knowing where the zombies had come from. She could even claim she was defending herself from them, after all there was no way to tell who had raised them from the grave.

  
It was as if time had slowed for the budding alchemist… the warm metal of the dagger's hilt felt calming against her palm even if she didn’t know how it had come to be in her hand and not his. she pivoted on unsteady feet, swaying in place until the face Alain once more filled her vision. Anger roiled from the depths of her being like a rising tide that tinted the world a dull red. It boiled and seethed from somewhere deep in her chest, fed by the countless nights she had spent in this very tavern pitying herself, by each bitter word the shatter-shield's had spit in her direction.

  
Her arm came up, swinging blindly as she tried to drive the dagger's tip home. But as the assassin had pointed out she lacked the skill needed to wield a blade, and no amount of hatred would give her that. The blade clattered noisily to the stone floor, having veered off course as it collided with Alain's shoulder at an off angle. She cursed, her eyes bleary with searing tears as she disregarded the fallen weapon and instead pounded at Alain's cold chest with her bare hands.

  
The assassin watched in silence, it wasn't till she had released her anger fully and was merely sobbing that he moved to retrieve his discarded blade. But rather than sheath it he held it out to her once more without a word. Muiri mirrored his silence as she fought to quiet her weeping, letting the eerie calm settle in the void her anger had left behind.  
Again she approached the body of her ex-lover, this time with cold calculation only edged with her hatred. Without a sound she plunged it into Alain's yielding flesh, and when it would sink no longer she pulled it back out and struck again, and again. Till the chest that she had once caressed was unrecognizable from being butchered so. There was little of his blood left to spill, but her sleeves were covered in a spattering of drops none the less; her hands were coated in the sticky black ooze that dribbled from the wounds she'd inflicted.

  
"See? Is that not better? More satisfying to appease your desire with your own hands?" That soft voice once more questioned her, but her mind had begun to numb in the wake of her anger and she had no words with which to answer him; merely staring blankly at his partially concealed face. “So, tell me, my frozen lily, are you satisfied? Or does that passion for revenge still burn hm? After all, you still have one more guest.” He reminded her, gesturing to Nilsine in the corner.

  
Muiri's arms felt heavy, her body drained, but the more she looked at Nilsine's face the more the memories started to pour into her head

.  
_"Traitor!"_  
_" Thief!"_  
How they had cursed at her, her pleas and explanations falling on deaf ears. How she despised their cruelness, could they not for a moment consider that she might be innocent? No, they had thought themselves above her. They had cast her out without a single thought, like one would trash onto the street. She’d been forced to leave her home and all she’d loved because of them.

  
Once more she swung the blade, striking across the unmarked skin of her victim's face, gouging an ugly furrow from eye to jaw line. It wouldn't have been enough to kill Nilsine had she still been alive, but it ruined her once pleasing face. Muiri moved almost mechanically, forcing the zombie down onto its knees with the heel of her foot against its now exposed back. Down along Nilsine's spine went the blade, slicing through bones as if they were nothing. And she continued hacking away with renewed fury till the back of her victim was a mess of black ooze and white bone peeking through the torn flesh and rent cloth. Muiri relished the chance, cutting each of her own frustrations out on the unmoving form beneath her.

  
When she had finished and her mind was once more catching up with the reality around her she let the blade fall from her tired fingertips, her eyes staring at her own gore splattered hands.

  
"And then the maid, hunger sated and drained from her own wishes, looked down upon the garden of her actions. To see the fruits of her labor laid bare before her, the fallen and damned but blooms at her feet,” the shrouded mer said cryptically, stepping over the remains of his deceased thralls with ease despite the considerable mess they were now in. He handed her a cloth for her hands before heading over to the table to retrieve his payment. Muiri cleaned her hands off without thinking, her clothing ruined and her strength sapped out of her by her relinquished anger. She watched as he moved, wondering if he planned to leave her then with two butchered corpses and with what purpose he had done this for her.

  
"So what happens now? Do we both just pretend we never met and part ways?" She wasn't sure why she asked but she couldn't hold the words back as her nerves; raw from the entire ordeal, once more became on edge. He seemed unaffected by her question, as if the answer went without saying as he picked his weapon up from where she'd dropped it moments before. “Well, at least tell me your name then,” she pleaded hurriedly as he headed for the door.

  
At those words he paused, his hand on the handle as if caught for a moment in contemplation. The silence stretched out between them, flowing around Muiri and threatening to swallow her whole. After what seemed like ages and to her surprise he turned around, reclining back against the door as his arms came to rest folded over his chest.

  
"And why is it you wish to know? What do you hope to gain should you have that information?" He asked blankly; she had expected suspicion, but found none in his tone.

  
"I… uh... I wish to know because…" She was stuttering, not even sure herself why she wanted to know. After all it wasn’t like she'd be able to tell anyone it; surely if she did she'd find herself in worse shape than the bodies at her feet. Yet for some reason she couldn't just let him leave without knowing at least something about him. “I want to know because… because you've done more for me than anyone else," she paused, trying to conjure up the nerve to say what was running through her mind. “You’re my champion… I want, no, need to know your name and what you look like. I won’t tell a soul but I have to know.”

  
“Champion… how very quaint.” His lips pulled into a malicious grin and Muiri felt her chest tighten. She feared she'd pushed him too far, unwittingly angering him with her demands. Each footstep he took closer to her made her tremble, scarcely able to breathe at all as he closed the distance between them.

  
"Are you in the habit of interrogating murderers?” His tone held more than just a threat to it, the way he accentuated the words bordered on the obscene and gave Muiri’s pulse an entirely different reason to pound.

  
Once more he reached for her; locking her in an embrace like a lover would. But where one would expect warmth and tenderness to be... there was none; his body now cold, his touch like death itself along her jaw as he forced her head slowly up to look at him. She offered no resistance and no struggle, she didn’t dare. The hand on her jaw caressed up her cheek and further until his fingertips were brushing the hair out of her eyes. She stiffened in his embrace unsure when the soft touch would turn violent but convinced it would.

  
The hood fell back along his shoulders and Muiri saw the last thing Nilsine and Alain had before they died. Features sharp enough to cut one’s hand on gave way to green eyes that held a look completely alien to her. His skin was smooth, marred only by a tattoo sprawling along one of his cheeks which stood out against the grey of his skin and the red of his hair.

  
"Well? Does my appearance match what you expected?" he asked, towering over her. She shook her head, had she not been terrified she would have thought him handsome, the kind of mer she might have flirted with in the tavern, even with the blood red color of his hair and the exotic look of his face. But mere inches from her with those unrelenting eyes peering down, she knew the face of death when she saw it.

  
"Ah I see, well perhaps that is for the better; my work would be rather difficult were everyone to think me an assassin from sheer looks alone. Now, as for your original request…” he continued, doing something that was so beyond what she'd expected that it obliterated every thought in her mind at that moment. It took her moments after the fact to realise he'd leaned forward and firmly pressed his cold lips against hers, a kiss that ended with her bottom lip bloodied. He'd whispered his name afterwards, and released her from his monstrous hold, slipping out of the door without a sound.

  
"Thank you Malatu…” she murmured numbly as the name registered in her mind long after he'd already left.

  
It was some time later when she'd fully come to terms with what seemed like the most nightmarish dream that it occurred to her that she was still in an inn room with two corpses, both of which were connected to her. But even as she looked over their hacked at forms they began to disintegrate into ashes, leaving nothing to mark the event beyond her now throbbing bottom lip and her own blood stained clothes.


	2. Dragon's Tongue

_ She tries to speak but his lips will not let her, robbing her of her breath as they greedily press over her mouth.  It is as if he's become the vessel of avarice and the taste of her is the only currency that can satisfy him. Her top is in tatters, fistfuls of it tangled around his hands as he draws her closer against him...  forcing their bodies together in a dance of lust. His own shirt has been tossed away ages ago, set adrift in the sea of lilies in which they lay. She can see his chest rise and fall above her, the grey flesh smooth and supple under her hands.  As she digs her nails in dragging down his slender torso and leaving dark furrows in the wake of her fingertips. She is rewarded by a small sound from his throat and it pulls her smile further across her flushed face.  _

_ It sounds primal, eager, hungry… his hands become silk vices upon her flesh, sliding ever lower as his mouth covers the bend of her neck making her gasp and writhe.  Teeth like daggers nip at the pulse there washing her skin with the tingle of adrenaline. The sweet intoxication of pleasure mixes with the bitter tension of danger till the world swim before her eyes. _

_ Her hands are in his hair, pulling it from its ponytail until it spills like a crimson curtain around them.  The texture of it is like satin dyed the color of fresh blood and…. _

"MUIRI!  Girl you've let it boil over!"  Just like that her fantasy ended and the real world set back in.  Bothela looked over the ruined potion with castigating mumblings punctuating her vocalized thoughts.  “That was my entire stock of dragon's tongue no less and just look at the mess you've made of this pestle!"

Muiri's shoulders slumped under the weight of her mentor's scathing remarks, knowing full well no apology would soothe the old woman's ire.  Not that she didn't try anyway… "I'm sorry I don't know what happened, one minute I was adding the butterfly wings and the next it was overflowing…"

"Not a single excuse out of you girl.  You and I both know that you had your head in the clouds instead of paying attention to the temperature.  You've been nothing but distracted for the last two months!" Bothela admonished further, taking a wet cloth and going to work on the pestle Muiri had knocked over when coming out of her day dream.  It was a sticky mess, the half burnt remnants of the potion caked on like sickly green glue. When Muiri tried to take it from her to make up for making the mess in the first place Bothela shooed her away with a snap of her rag.  “Oh no you don't, you're going to go get more dragon's tongue until you have completely replaced the amount you wasted."

"But they don't grow outside of Eastmarch!"

"Use your head girl, Zaria over at Grave Concoctions in Falkreath should have some for sale."

"But that's going to cost me a whole month's wages!" Muiri had been apologetic before, now she just folded her arms over her potion stained dress and sulked.

"Well unless you want to walk all the way to Eastmarch I suggest you bring your coin purse with you."

Muiri collected her things in a huff, hastily throwing a cloak over her shoulders and belting a dagger around her waist as she headed for the door, closing it unnecessarily rough behind her. Not even bothering to change her clothes before heading out, after all what was the point if she was going to be spending a good chunk of her day on the road? The dust alone would be hell, and that was only if it wasn’t raining as it often was around the gloomy little hold. 

As her apprentice left, Bothela just shook her head of white hair, with any luck the road would clear the girl's head some.  She didn't know what had gotten into the younger woman as of late but ever since she'd returned from a night of drinking with her clothes a mess and her lip bloodied… something had been decidedly off about her behavior.  It wasn't just the endless day dreaming, Muiri had never been one known for her focus and especially not so after she’d taken to spending most nights at the bottom of a bottle. And while Bothela had her suspicions about the cause; seeing as most of her apprentice's problems normally began and ended with the rougher sex, there was something more… something unnatural about the Breton lass' behavior.

_ 'That deplorable old hag.' _  Muiri was seething as she pushed Markarth's large bronze gates open, the grating squeak of their hinges protesting under their immense weight.  _ ‘Making me spend my own gold to buy her supplies. This is bordering on slavery for Zenithar’s sake!’ _  The carriage driver gave her a bemused look as she approached looking for all the world like a miniature storm.  Muiri didn't care if he stared, as long as he could take her to Falkreath she would deal with it.

"How much is it for your services?" She didn't even want to consider how much this was going to set her back money wise.  She'd already spent the majority of her money taking care of her ' _ little problem' _ , buying passage to Falkreath on top of buying Bothela’s ingredients was going to bleed her dry she just knew it.   _ 'And it's not like I meant for that potion to go wrong… I just… got distracted is all.'  _ She thought bitterly, more irritated by the fact that the old woman had ruined a perfectly good daydream than she honestly wanted to admit.

"That depends on where you're headed.”  Was the driver's slow response, he and his horse both looking as if the only thing they did quickly was drink.

"Falkreath."

"Fifty septims will get you there but you'll be on your own if you mean to return.  Ain’t no carriages stationed in that town."

_ 'FIFTY SEPTIMS?!' _ By the eight, she really was going to be broke after this.  “Surely you can give a girl a discount.” Her tone was much more friendly now, a façade of a smile on her face.  “Especially one who's a tad down on her luck?"

"No can do lass.  It's fifty septims if you want a ride.  Otherwise you'd best move along."

Muiri felt her cheeks burn as furiously she dug out her coin purse from her pocket, all but pelting the stubborn Nord with the coins as she paid her fare and then bristled off to the back of the cart.  The driver said nothing, having dealt with more than a few hot tempered women in his day and knowing better than to tempt the harpy glaring at him from the back of his cart. He just gave the reins a flick and steadied himself as the rickety wheels began to roll forward.  Normally he tried to make small talk with his fares just to pass the time but as Muiri sat practically growling and muttering under her breath after each divot or rock they rode over, he thought better of it. They both were in for a very very long ride to Falkreath.

By the time the cushion-less carriage came shuddering to a halt at the gates of Falkreath Muiri was tired, hungry and unbelievably sore.  All she wanted was a hot meal and a warm bed to fall into.  _ 'I swear, one more hour in that accursed cart and I would have shaken apart completely,' _ Muiri groaned mentally, trying to stretch her stiff limbs.  

She might have to walk back to Markarth later but at least she wouldn't spend the journey being jostled around and ignored by a rude old man who couldn't even be bothered to help her out of the back of his cart. With the surrounding pine trees filtering the late afternoon sun into a twilight-esque glow, Muiri took to the streets of the quiet town.  And it didn't take her long to locate the apothecary Bothela had spoken of.

"Let me know if you need help with something.”  Zaria didn't look up initially from her alembic as the chime over her door sounded merrily.  The vial in her hand held dead steady as she poured the two mixtures together with ease born of experience.  The potion chirped like a lark once before turning from a purplish blue to a golden yellow. Peering through her results at her customer Zaria smiled happily, not only at the seemingly successful experiment but also at the familiar face.  “Ah Muiri it's been a while, I hope life has been treating you kindly."

"It's been… strange if I'm honest.”  Muiri answered as she shut the door to the small shop behind her.  The air she’d let in sent smoke and incense swirling in hazy spirals while she stepped further inside and came to rest her elbows on the shop's counter.  “What about you? Anything new in Falkreath?" Muiri wasn't one to miss an opportunity to gossip, especially if the topics were juicy.

"Not that I can think of, things are as dead as they always are… no pun intended.  So did you need something or just stopping by for a visit?" Zaria walked behind her counter once more, still scrutinizing her latest alchemic endeavor.  It wasn't often that the Breton came to see her, these trips normally a punishment or errand for Bothela back at the Hag's Cure.

"Business as usual, you know me… not allowed outside the city unless my slaver needs me to fetch something… old crone has me replacing her stock of Dragon's tongue with my own wages no less!" Just mentioning it again made her bristle, as if everything from the ruined potion to the teeth grinding carriage ride had been somehow engineered by the old woman to make her miserable.  As if she even needed more reason to be miserable.

"It can't be that bad.  You make it sound as if you're some princess trapped in a tower by a dragon.  Surely if she treats you that badly you could leave… make your own way in the world and all that.”  Zaria countered as she began the process of bottling the potion in her hands, and setting a label for it.  Only problem was she wasn't quite sure what it did yet. She knew what it ought to do but reality seldom did what she thought it ought to.  So while she figured that bit out she began filling out Muiri's order, measuring the fragile blooms out and weighing them before wrapping them up in a bit of burlap.

"Don't be ridiculous, where would I go? I already had to uproot my life once before. I don’t really want to do that again.  And besides, Skyrim's too dangerous to go wandering around in these days. Which reminds me how much do I owe you? I want to get back on the road before it starts getting dark."

"Twenty septims should do it.  Why not stay a night at the inn if you don't want to be on the roads at night?"

"Can't, don't have the coin for it… speaking of… I don't suppose I could pay you half now and then half another day?  I'm really short of gold at the moment,” Muiri grumbled, poking her finger around her coin purse double checking the sparse coins.  She really really did not want to have to walk to Eastmarch just for a bunch of damn flowers.

Zaria's expression was sympathetic, she might have found Muiri to be trying at times, particularly the girl's childish attitude towards pulling her own weight.  But she still felt a pang of pity for her nonetheless. “I'll tell you what, you help me test this new potion of mine and I'll give you a discount on the flowers.  Sound fair?"

Muiri didn't like the idea of swallowing a potion without knowing what had gone into its making and she especially didn't like drinking something when neither she nor its brewer knew its effects.  However, the prospect of returning empty handed or walking to the other side of Skyrim were even less appealing so she agreed to Zaria's bargain. She up-ended her purse on the counter watching the remains of her gold clatter noisily on top and then downed the portion of potion  Zaria handed her.

"So does anything feel different?"  Zaria questioned once Muiri had set the glass back down.

"No nothing yet… what was it supposed to do?"

"It's supposed to make the consumer sing like a lark.  It was a request job from the Bard's college but I'm not sure it worked… don't suppose you'd sing a few notes for me?  Just to test if it did or not."

Muiri felt her face flush, whether this was because the prospect of singing in front of another embarrassed her greatly or if the potion was doing things to her head she wasn't sure.  “Uh… sure..” She stammered, trying to think of what to sing. Finally she settled on a lullaby her ma used to sing to her when she was a babe. “She's like the swallow that flies on high, she's like the river that never runs dry.  She's like the sun beaming on the far shore, I love my love but love is no more...” Zaria's pained frown made her drop off abruptly. Muttering an apology and an excuse of being out of practice.

"Don't worry about it, at least I know the potion failed.  Well you’d best be off then if… Muiri? Muiri, are you alright, you look a little…"

Zaria never got to finish her thought as Muiri stumbled backwards and then eventually fell to the floor.  When the worried Redguard ran over fearing for the worst, she found the potion had only knocked Muiri unconscious.  And while that was a relief it wasn't exactly helpful as she now had a young woman snoozing fitfully on the floor of her store.  She gave the girl's cheek a pat, but it proved to be a fruitless endeavor. Muiri just curled up in a ball and snored softly regardless of what Zaria did.

"Just perfect.”  Zaria cursed as she gave up and instead set about making an antidote for her newly discovered sleeping potion.

A few hours later Muiri found herself trudging through the gates of Falkreath with her parcel of Dragon's tongue tucked under her arm.  The sun had set over an hour ago and all the creatures of a nocturnal nature were hooting and chittering in the darkness around her as if to drive home the point that she was doing something reckless.  But what choice did she have? She had no money for a room at the inn and the only person she knew in Falkreath was Zaria who had fed her not one but TWO experimental potions in less than a day. 

 

No, she would simply be careful and stick to the road even if it was unbelievably dark out.  She searched the sky for Masser and Secunda but neither moon nor their accompanying stars were visible.  ' _ Probably just the trees blocking the light.  It'll be brighter once I'm out of these woods,' _  she tried to reassure herself, but the knot in her stomach wouldn't undo itself.  And as Muiri's eyes strained to see ahead of her she was soon alerted as to why that was.

Up ahead on the road something had moved, she couldn't see it well but she was sure she'd seen a flash of white preceding the sound of growling that made the hair on her arms stand on end.   _ 'Wolves… just what I did not need,'  _ her mind cursed as she nervously tugged her tiny blade from her belt, her knuckles turning white with how hard she gripped its iron hilt.  But as the thing drew closer… or rather group of things; as there now appeared to be more than one shape coming down the dirt road, she corrected her earlier assumption.  It wasn't wolves that were coming towards her, but a group of men with dogs growling and baying beneath the hooves of their horses.

Muiri had only a few moments to duck off the side of the road before the 'hunting' party caught sight of her.  She might not know who they were but one didn't have to be an scholar to know that a lone woman on a road at night amidst a group of worked up and likely sloshed men was not a good mix.  Muiri scrambled as fast as she could over moss covered rock and log alike. Making her way down a steep incline with all manner of bramble and thorns scratching up her arms. 

The sting of those cuts made her hiss between gritted teeth, but she didn't dare call out least the men on the road hear her.  She was fumbling in the dark though, so it wasn't of any great surprise when she misplaced her step and lost her footing, falling with a yelp seven or so feet off of a ledge that jutted out of the incline.  She had expected pain when she hit the ground, and to be sure there was some of that… however she hadn't been expecting to land on top of someone else and end up in a tangle of limbs. Above her she could hear the men call to one another, one of them having heard her startled cry and calling to his mates to check it out.

Muiri's stomach tried to flee her body completely when the sound of jingling stirrups and thrown reins slapping saddles sliced through the still night air.  And she was all for running away with it, trying to claw her way to her feet without a second thought for who she had landed on. She even managed to stand up and take those first few steps towards fleeing into the underbrush and hopefully back to Falkreath.  But those first few steps were as far as she got as a pair of strong arms lifted her clean off the ground and pulled her back into what looked like the mouth of a cave. She would have screamed but her assailant's hand was clamped over her mouth, stifling any protests she might have had.  So with the option for screaming taken away she did the only other thing that came to mind… she thrashed like a sabre cat caught in a bear trap. Her fists got in a blow or two before the soft trill of metal being unsheathed and the unpleasant bite of a blade against her throat made her body stiffen like a board in her captor's arms.

"Hit me again or struggle in any way and I won't hesitate to slice your throat open like a ripe peach.  Do you understand?" The harsh whisper made her shudder but Muiri nodded all the same. She didn't have to be told twice when sharp pointy things were involved.  “Good, now keep quiet.” She considered nodding again but both her's and the man… for the voice was most certainly male… behind her 's attention was drawn elsewhere due to the noise of splashing echoing just off to their left.

"There's some kind of cave or sumthin' down here.  You want us to check it out boss?" It was one of the men Muiri had seen on the road earlier, he and a few of his group had made their way down the incline and were holding torches aloft to better investigate what drew them off the road in the first place.  Over her shoulder she heard her captor curse, pulling her back farther until both of them were pressed against some type of wall and the shadows concealed them almost completely.

"Don't go in it until we know what we're dealin' with.  Don't want to end up like old Hrogiv do you?" Another voice broke in, probably from their leader as more men joined the first few.  “See anythin' else?"

"Nope doesn't look like there's anythin' else that could have made that noise ya’ heard.”  Answered the first as the light of the torches drew just a tad closer to where they were hiding.  Muiri crushed as she was to the body behind her didn't know which outcome she wanted. For the men she'd only just run from to find her and possibly free her from whoever was pressing their blade into her throat or for them to go away so she only had to bargain with one aggressor and not seven.  She of course did not get a choice in the matter.

her captor whispered, a soft green glow enveloping his hand as it covered Muiri's mouth.  What happened afterwards… well she didn't know how to explain it.

The world around them took on a menacing flavor.  The shadows deepened, transforming into horrid gaping mouths that shifted and roiled from their places as if possessed.  The stale air stirred beneath the wings of a harsh wind that howled over head with the voice of a thousand tormented souls.  It stank of vile things, things that slithered in the dark and fed on the dead. The entire scene was enough to make a noble man's courage crumble and these were not noble men who dropped their torches immediately and fled shrieking into the night.  Muiri herself was so gripped with fear at the horror dancing in her eyes that she actually ignored the blade against her throat and turned in her captor's arms clinging to his thin body while burying her face into his shoulder... begging for the monsters to go away.

 

* * *

 

He was still for a moment, surprised at the woman clinging to his robes like they had suddenly become the anchor of her world.  and in a way they had. Anything solid and non-threatening to block out the imagined monsters in the clearing beyond would have sufficed.  But this was a spell, not the realm of Vaermina come to Skyrim. And like most spells it faded after a while once its task was complete, the blustering men who'd come a tad too close to discovering the black door and what lay beyond it were nowhere to be seen. 

Once he was sure they were gone he stood, dragging Muiri roughly to her feet as he did so.  In the darkness she couldn't see his face but he could see hers and the recognition was immediate for him. Though that didn’t alleviate his confusion at what was going on in any way. Still something had to be done and there wasn’t much time to do it. The last thing Muiri remembered were unnaturally glowing eyes, fixed on her own, willing her to sleep, lulling her there with hypnotizing green flames.  And then the blackness of the night became absolute for the young Breton woman.


	3. Thistle and Thorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams are not as they seem.

_ A vaulted ceiling spirals towards the heavens, its face painted in images she doesn’t quite understand.  Around her people dance to a silent rhythm. Their faces coyly hidden by gilded masks held gloved hands as all manner of skirts and fur lined boots cavort over polished black floors.  She swims in a sea of color and fine fabrics, reflected in floor length mirrors that line the chamber's wall. These watchful glass sentries create illusion upon illusion on an already impossibly large room sending its occupants spinning into eternity.  Patterns she doesn't recognize adorn every other surface, from the place she stands all the way up to a pair of heavy wooden doors that bear the likeness of goddesses embracing. _

_ As soon as she notices these doors so does everyone else in the room.  Each masked visage turning expectantly towards them. As if on cue they swing forward, a rolling mist seeping into the room's light from the darkness beyond.  Finger like coils of mist flow until every inch of the floor is covered in it… save a small circle in which she stands. She takes a step backwards, unwilling to let the mist touch the ragged hem of her dress fearing what she sees at every turn and yet not knowing why. _

_ "What is the matter, my frozen lily?  Are you afraid?" a familiar voice whispers along her skin, so terribly close… so heartrendingly out of reach.  She pivots on her heel, her fear ebbing like a finicky tide beneath the pull of a cruel moon. Before her that familiar shadow stands with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, like a vision or a memory although he is neither.  A silver tunic clings to his lithe frame only loosening at the elbows as the fabric forms billowing sleeves. Beneath it, black and equally tight fitting breeches slide down into finely made black boots adorned with more silver. And while she finds the attire breathtaking, it is not what draws her gaze like a frightened moth to a cold flame.  For on his face; framed by his crimson hair, is a mask as white as bone and shaped like death itself. It obscures half of his face, leaving his smirking lips exposed and yet so untouchable. _

_ "Yes…" she admits, unwilling to meet his eyes as her hands wring themselves amid the dirty skirts of her plain dress.  She is out of place amid this dream of finery and riches, she can feel the other dancers staring at her in silent judgment… the mirrors reflecting every angle of her inadequacies with harsh apathy. _

_ "Afraid of what my pet?" he asks again, circling her slowly like a wolf might its prey. _

_ "Of this place, of you… of them…" she murmurs as the brush of his fingertips over her jawline sets her quivering. _

_ "Why are you afraid of them my pet?" _

_ "They're staring at me…" _

_ "So?  What does it matter if they stare?  Come, dance with me.” His hand graces over her shoulder, trailing along her arm until her fingers are trapped in his and he can raise them to his lips. _

_ "But I'm not dressed for this," she stammers, fighting the blush that threatens to spill over her face as his other hand smooths over her small waist. _

_ "But aren't you?  See for yourself,"  comes the knowing response as he turns to the nearest mirror and gestures for her to do the same.  He is right and she can't believe what her eyes were seeing. Where once a worn cotton dress had hung ill-fitted to her body a gown fit for a queen now flows in shades of deepest crimson.  Satin drapes over her arms and off her shoulders shimmering in silverlight. It shifts as she moves, a plunging neckline; that accentuates the rise and fall of her own breath, takes the very thought of modesty and shreds it into nothingness. From the curve of her hips the skirt cascades uninterrupted to the floor, the shadows trapped within its folds seem endless and all seeing. _

_ When finally she tears her gaze from her own reflection and looks back at the mer before her, his eyes are piercing and his smile is made of glass.  He draws her across the obsidian floor once more, his steps setting the tempo of a slow waltz as music that had not been there before begins to filter through the air.  She is nervous, confused and unsure of herself with each twirl through the knee high mist that they make. Around them no one else moves, a hundred carved faces staring forward ominously as she tries to keep up with her unrelenting partner and the music plays on.   _

_ "They're staring at us," she whispers with her hand nervously clutched over his shoulder. _

_ "Who is staring my pet?" _

_ Her expression contorts once more into one of confusion as she waves her hand to gesture at the crowd around them.  “They are."  _

_ "But there is no one here my pet.  Just you, myself and the moons.” The moment he says it the room and its occupants dissolve before her eyes.  Until only they remain, gliding in circles among the mist beneath the light of the waning moons. _

_ "How…?" _

_ He laughs then, silken lips alighting on hers for but a moment as his arms crush her against him. _

_ "Muiri, it is only a dream.  Surely you can let yourself enjoy your own fantasy without questioning it endlessly." _

* * *

 

Muiri's eyelids cracked open blearily and then immediately squeezed shut again.  The part of her head that wasn't pounding like a drum, cursed the brightness of where ever she was as vehemently as she could while still being befuddled.  Much more gradually and with a hand providing shade, she tried again. Eventually the familiar sight of her bedroom and Bothela's wrinkled face studying her closely came into view.  

Seeing that her apprentice was alright… or would at least live, Bothela breathed a sigh of relief and straightened from the chair she'd been sitting in for hours while waiting for the girl to come to. "Oh good, gave me quite a scare you did.  What in Mara's name happened to you out there?"

Muiri didn't answer, being just as baffled as the old woman was.  She vaguely remembered being scared out of her wits and something she wanted desperately to remember… but nothing was coming to mind.

"I'm not sure… I'm not even sure how I got back here, the last thing I remember was leaving Zaria's after buying the Dragon's Tongue… " It dawned on her that said blooms appeared to be nowhere in sight.  “Ah Oblivion take it, I lost the Dragon's Tongues!" This simple problem suddenly being of greater concern than blacking out and not remembering the night before. Probably because of the hurdles she'd had to go through just to get them.

Bothela hunched as she was with age, waved the girl's worry off with a wrinkled hand. Shuffling stiffly over to one of the room's cluttered shelves, she gestured with a gnarled hand before turning to search for something else.  “N'ver you worry about those, they made it in better shape than you did. Though I'd love to hear the cause behind some strapping young lad banging on my door at the wee hours of the morning carrying those flowers and you like his blushing bride.  I thought you'd gone and learned your lesson where men are concerned after that Dufont scoundrel."

"Wait someone carried me home?  What did he look like?" In her chest Muiri noticed her heart's quickened pace although she didn't know why it seemed so determined to beat its way out of her body.

Bothela's lips pressed into a thin line, the creases of her face deepening as Muiri's reaction made her reconsider whether or not to answer the question she'd been asked.  Particularly that pleading tone the girl had. But there was nothing for it, she knew that if she didn't answer Muiri would give her no peace. For a woman who was at all other times indecisive almost to a fault, Muiri could be worse than a Daedric hound when it came to getting questions answered.

"He was a tall fellow, decent looking enough if you like them elven features… terribly dark clothing though and I didn't like the look his eyes had, just not natural at all."

"And his hair… was it red?"

"I couldn't say, he had his hood up.  And what's more he didn't say a word to me either.  Just pounded on the door and then pushed past me once I'd gotten it open.  He laid you out on the bed and then left as quickly as he appeared… It was all very strange.  I had half a mind to call the guard but seein' you in such a state I thought tendin’ to you was more important.”  Bothela's eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to her once she'd recounted the encounter. “Don't tell me you went and joined one of them Daedric cults or some such.  They're far more dangerous than they appear and ain't a single one of em up to anything decent I can assure you."

Muiri almost laughed at Bothela's last remark.  If the crone knew half of the things Muiri had done in her short life, her thin hair would have turned a starker shade of white.  “No I haven't joined any cult, though I might consider it if they promised to cure my headache. You're sure he didn't say anything?"

Bothela found what she'd been looking for on the shelf and came back with a flask of some foul smelling liquid that she instructed Muiri to drink.  Knowing better than to argue and trusting Bothela's brewing skills far more than she did Zaria's, Muiri downed the flask's contents trying not to gag as the thick liquid clung to her throat unpleasantly.  “I would have remembered if he had, I'm old, Muiri, not daft. Now how are you feeling?"

"Alright I guess, how long was I out for?"

"A day and a half.  I had a healer from the temple down here but she didn't know what was wrong with you.  Any idea what might have caused it?"

"Possibly, I certainly won't be sampling any of Zaria's experimental concoctions any time soon I can tell you that much."

"She's a curious one, that woman.  What was this latest one supposed to do?" Bothela was no stranger to Zaria's habit of cooking up odd things rather than following recipes like most alchemists did.  Though she had figured Muiri would have more sense than to down a potion without knowing its effects.

"She said it was supposed to make me sing like a lark… All it managed to do was make me fall asleep.” Muiri thankfully felt her headache receding as she climbed unsteadily to her feet.  For the most part she seemed to be no worse for wear minus the not remembering and the fact she'd supposedly been carried all the way from Falkreath. Just thinking about it made her thoughts swirl, could she even let herself believe it was who she thought it was? And if so… what was he doing there?  She didn't know but as Bothela went back to tending the Hag's Cure and Muiri was left to her own devices, the young Breton girl was determined to find out.

It took her nearly a month to save up enough money to buy the things she thought she might need.  And although Bothela had scowled and admonished her for being foolish, Muiri had made up her mind.  She was going to find her 'savior' and thank him properly for seeing her safely home. In her mind she wasn't being foolish, she was in love but at least she hadn't run out the morning after learning about her dark champion.  No, she had waited and planned. She set out for Falkreath again with that single goal in mind and a pack on her back. 

She'd taken time to replace some of her older and more threadbare dresses for newer and better fitting ones, had gone through the trouble of purchasing a week's supply of food and finally she'd splurged somewhat on a selection of red wine… all the way from Cyrodiil, or so she'd been told… and a new cloak that was the same color.   _ 'It matches his hair…' _  she'd thought when she'd bought it with a little flutter in her chest.  It might have cost her a pretty septim but it would be worth it… after all, she needed to make a good impression didn't she?

The only thing she wished she had money for and didn't, was a horse but given that she was going to be seeing him again she would grit and bear the less than comfortable carriage ride.  Besides the journey gave her more time to think of what she would say once she found him. Not like she hadn't already spent countless hours doing that exact thing, each rendition growing even more romantic as she dreamed it up till even reason couldn't keep her fantasies in check.  How was she so certain she'd find him along the road to Falkreath? Well if she was honest, she wasn't certain. But by the divines this was love! Mara would guide her, would lead her to the arms of the one she was meant to be with unlike that devil Dufont.

A particularly large rock beneath the carriage's wheel brought her back down to Nirn.  They were there so to speak, just a little ways away from the town's gates where the side of the road dropped off down a steep incline and a small oblong clearing beyond.  When she'd first made up her mind about trying to find her shadow-clad heartache she'd worried about not remembering the spot. But as she carefully made her way down the hillside she was certain she was in the right place. Although it was not nearly as romantic a spot as she’d hoped.

* * *

 

It was a door and a frightening one at that, carved with a scene that raised the hairs on the back of Muiri's neck.  She was crouched behind a cluster of snow berry bushes, hoping the bright berries might help hide the red hue of her cloak as she watched the entrance with held breath.  She needed a plan she decided. After all, walking up and knocking on that ominous door seemed like a really bad idea now. Especially when she recalled the creepy question that had whispered through her mind when she’d foolishly touched it upon first seeing it.

Unbeknownst to the furiously thinking Breton girl, she was being watched just as carefully as she was watching the door to the sanctuary.  High above, among the thick snow covered branches, slipped a silent and annoyed shadow. Malatu, as he was calling himself these days, couldn't believe the foolishness of the girl below him.  Part of his mind wondering if it had been a mistake to spare her life and return her unscathed to Markarth. 

He'd hoped that she wouldn't remember the location nor significance of the door she'd unwittingly stumbled upon when she had quite literally fallen on top of him a month ago.  Yet here she was, just meters from it for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom. Did she just have a death wish or was there something more sinister at work? Had the contract she'd ordered been a lure?  To gain information on the dark brotherhood or him and then use it against them? Was she a spy of some kind? Perhaps someone with a grudge against them? It wouldn’t have been all that surprising, seeing as murdering for hire did often garner some… less than pleasant company and consequences. He’d been made painfully aware of that fact long before he’d joined the brotherhood. Long before he’d even met them for that matter. 

Though as Malatu crept down the tree's trunk a bit and on to another branch he doubted she was any of those things.  If she was a spy then she was the worse one he'd ever seen. Even if he hadn't been on high alert because of their previous run in, he would have seen her red cloak and heard her careless steps.  Now if he could just figure out what she was doing out here maybe... just maybe, he could deal with it. Hopefully before Astrid or one of the others came outside and blamed him for the un-welcomed guest on their doorstep.  Just the thought of Astrid's glowering face and quick temper made him grimace. He'd already gone rounds with her over far lesser things and he'd be damned if he let her have a better reason to harass him.

Without a sound he dropped down from the tree. With his body slung low to the ground as he crept behind his target.  But just as he reached her, Malatu glimpsed the door being pushed aside and had no choice but to throw himself forward, toppling the poor girl to the ground unceremoniously. Hastily the elf threw an invisibility spell over the both of them, covering her mouth with the his arm as the door swung open fully.

Astrid closed the black door behind her intent on getting some air after an infuriating argument with Cicero.  But as she stepped out of the dark passage and into the light of the afternoon she could have sworn she'd seen a flicker of movement out in the woods before her.  

It wasn’t uncommon for foxes or other smaller creatures to sometimes linger in the shade of their door, often a welcomed meal for Lis whenever the mood struck their eight legged member. Yet still, Astrid’s hand strayed to linger near her blade. Things were too precarious not to be cautious. 

When nothing else stirred, Astrid gave a shake of her head and blew the tension out through her nose. The merry murderess went to complete her woodland stroll, never knowing that she was walking right past her fellow assassin and his 'adoring fan'.

Once the coast was clear, Malatu let the invisibility spell fade but he didn't let Muiri up. The girl was still kicking and struggling like a mule just as she had been the entire time he'd been on top of her.  If he wasn't so annoyed by her presence he might have admired the fiery will to live she possessed. However, the only thought that came to mind was how to rectify the situation before Astrid returned. Killing her would be quick but messy and while he might be able to explain the body to his 'boss', that was a conversation he did not want to have… too many questions he didn't want to answer. Thinking quickly he formulated a plan, one he didn't like but one that would nevertheless buy him time to come up with a better one.  And for now he'd take what he could get. 

Roughly he pulled the girl to her feet with one hand gripping the back of her clothes and his other arm still over her mouth to stifle her caterwauling.  As she still couldn't see his face, and he wanted to keep it that way for now, he took the hood of her cloak and threw it over her head. Forming a makeshift executioner's hood, its drawstrings turning into a noose though he didn't strangle her with it, just tied it in place.

For now he would not kill her, not until he knew what she wanted and why she was stalking him.  He would need time to learn that, time and a quiet place to extract the information where he didn't have to worry about being disturbed or answering to someone else.  Though he was loathe to take her  _ there, _  it didn't seem like he had a choice in the matter.  None of these thoughts were of comfort to Muiri though, unaware of them and frantically trying to uncover her eyes.

All she knew was she was being attacked and this was not at all what she'd wanted nor what she had been expecting.  And the next thing she felt only made her panic worse as she fought with whoever was behind her. Her hands were being caught and forced roughly behind her back and bound with a bit of coarse rope.  It was then that it dawned on her... she was being kidnapped.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and if you liked this story please consider giving it a review.


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